


the art of grieving

by rosssaliie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: its funeral time babey, okay so theres no death in this but they talk about allison being dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosssaliie/pseuds/rosssaliie
Summary: allison's death takes its toll on lydia
Kudos: 1





	the art of grieving

It was almost unbearable. Lydia had never felt this kind of pain before. Not when her parents divorced or when Boyd died. No, this was different. She felt like a piece of her had been taken - a piece she would never get back. She was sitting on the floor of her room, all dressed in black and makeup running down her face. Her hair was half pulled back, and half down. A small braid was laid neatly on the back of her neck. In her lap was a framed photo of herself and Allison. All the lights were off, but the slightest amount of sunlight could be seen from behind the pulled curtains. 

There was a knock on her door. She didn’t bother looking that way, or even responding. Her fingers tightened around the frame.

“She hasn’t moved, but you can go in,” her mother's voice said from the other side. 

The door creaked open, and Stiles walked through, wearing the nicest black suit he had. He closed the door behind him. “Hey,” he said, trying to get her attention. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. “Your mom says you haven’t moved since you got dressed. We got to go, you know, or we’re gonna be late.” He sniffled a bit, but wiped the tiniest tear away from his eye the second it appeared. “Lydia, come on, we have to go.”

She didn’t answer. She just pulled her knees up to her chest, holding the picture as close to her as she could.

Stiles paced between Lydia and her door, going back and forth a couple times. “Look, Lyds, I know you’re upset, but that’s why we need to go. We need to bury her.” He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “So can we please go?” 

Lydia shook her head, and rested it between her knees. 

“Lydia-”

“Just go!” she finally cried out. A new stream of tears flowed from her eyes. She buried her head in the space between her knees, her shoulders shaking as she cried. “Please just leave.” Her muffled voice broke Stiles’ heart.

He blinked away more tears, attempting to keep up his facade. He sat down in front of her, reaching a hand out to rub the back of her head. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He crossed his legs and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you just wanna sit here? You can talk to me, if you need to, you know. You can always talk to me.” Stiles undid his tie and took off his jacket, setting them both on the desk chair behind him. 

She lifted her head and scoffed. “What do you want me to say? That I’m  _ mourning _ ?” Her voice was bitter and mocking. “That I can’t handle her being gone? Well I can’t. I  _ can’t _ handle her being gone, just like I can’t handle  _ you _ insisting on dragging me to her funeral!” The words were strangled as she screamed them in his face. She shot to her feet, picture still in hand, and wiped her tears away. “I don’t wanna go to her  _ stupid funeral _ , so just  _ get out of my face! _ ” She chucked the frame at her door, causing it to shatter upon contact. The glass rained down to the floor with an almost musical sound. 

Stiles flinched as he watched her. He stared up at her with fear and pity. “Lydia…” 

But she didn’t give him a chance to continue. In an instant, she grabbed a shard of glass and took it to her curtains, shredding them as much as she could before tearing them down completely. She threw the now-bloodied glass aside and stormed over to her dresser. One by one, she removed the pictures and knick knacks from on top of the bureau and threw them against the far wall. There was more shattering, more glass flying, more destruction.

“Hey, Lydia! Hey, you can’t- you can’t do this!” He was on his feet, trying to move the last remaining items that were still safe from her hands. He cradled them in his arms; he noted a small snowglobe, a heart shaped dish, and an old golden locket. 

She quickly went after him, trying to wrestle her things out of his hands. “You can’t stop me!” she cried, sounding more and more hysterical. 

They struggled against each other, but it didn’t take long for them to both lose their grip. Everything fell through their hands, smashing to the ground at their feet. The water from the snowglobe started to soak Stiles’ socks, and there were a few cuts on Lydia’s bare feet. She just stared down at the mess, an angry look on her face.

“Okay, just don’t move, I’ll go get a towel.” Stiles took careful, calculated steps around the piles of glass. He was almost at the door, when he heard whimpering behind him. He turned back to see Lydia, crouched down, holding the golden locket. “You okay?”

But she couldn’t answer. She could only cry. She rocked back on her heels, nearly hitting the ground hard. Stiles caught her from behind, hooking his arms underneath her armpits. He sat on the floor, in a spot that was somehow not covered in glass, and held her close to him. Her cries were hard for him to listen to. But he was at a loss for words, so he just watched, as she clutched the locket like it was her last life line. She pressed it against her heart, the edges of it making an indent in her skin. Blood coated her shaking hands, staining her dress and mixing with the black streaks of mascara when she touched her face. 

Hearing her, and holding her, Stiles broke. He let his own tears spill, but was silent in his misery. His hold on her turned to an embrace, as they comforted each other against the side of her bed. 

It was hard to tell how much time had passed. All either of them knew is that, at some point, they were finally able to stop crying. They sat there for a little while, just holding each other, and staring at the mess around them. 

“Did we miss the funeral?” Lydia asked quietly, her voice hoarse. 

Stiles shook his head. “Mr. Argent said he’d wait till you got there. That he couldn’t imagine burying her without you. It wouldn’t feel right.” He removed his arms from around her and rested them in her lap. “What’s in the locket?” He nodded to the piece of jewelry that was still in her locked grip.

Slowly, she unfolded her hands and opened the locket with a gentle  _ click _ . On either side was a picture of Lydia and Allison. They were wearing the outfits Stiles remembered from when they went ice skating together. “We took them in the photo booth.” She used the palm of her hand to wipe away more tears, but in doing so she smudged the makeup that was already running. “How am I supposed to live without her, Stiles? She was like my sister.” She almost choked on her words as they came out. 

He stared down at the smiling faces of the girls in the photos. It was hard to believe that those weren’t the same girls now. “I don’t know, Lyds. I really don’t.” With stiff joints, he pushed himself to his feet. “But we should at least help her father bury his daughter.” He held out a hand to her. 

This time, she took it. She clipped the necklace onto herself and sat down at her vanity. She opened one packet of makeup wipes and one of water wipes. She handed the latter to Stiles. They took a few silent minutes to clean themselves up, Lydia taking her makeup off entirely and Stiles scrubbing off the dried blood he had on his hands. He helped Lydia with her own bloodstains, and finally, they felt somewhat ready. They linked their hands together, and carefully stepped towards the door. 

Lydia stopped, taking one long look at the ruin left in her wake. 

“You okay?” 

She sighed softly. “No.” Then, she followed Stiles out the door, prepared to bury her best friend. 


End file.
